Grand Finale
by DeeDeeINFJ
Summary: "It's not that I don't like sex," she says quickly. "I do! I just don't get to the grand finale very often."


Written to answer the LJ prompt: We_ have evidence that Leslie had trouble orgasming (checking out the orgasm book at the library, "I wish there was something physical that could make me feel this way," "don't make it last too long, ladies don't like that," etc.) and evidence that post-Ben Leslie is horny a lot.__ Soooo basically some Ben figures out how to make her come fic please. _Thanks to whoever posted it!

* * *

At some point between "Uh oh" and now, they've gotten to her house and into her bedroom, their shoes and socks marking a trail from the front door.

"Condom?"

"Birth control."

"Your house is a disaster."

"Shut up."

And she shuts him up by making out with him. She has wanted this for a long time now, but she can't push her nagging hang-ups out of her mind. Ben's kisses affect her in a way that no others have, which makes her wonder if things could be different with him. God, she hopes so.

"I need to tell you something," she says when they pause to breathe. He nods and waits for her to continue, his hands sliding down her arms and leaving goosebumps in their wake. "I have trouble with this." Her eyes fall on the bed at their side and then return to his. "Most of the time, I don't… I can't… you know. There's probably something wrong with me. But I wanted to tell you so you don't feel like you did anything wrong or that I'm not into you. I am _so_ into you." She smiles and braces herself for his reaction.

Ben tucks some hair behind her ear. "Okay. So what you're saying is that you have trouble getting an orgasm?" he asks.

"Yes." Her face is burning up.

She realizes that she's probably thrown a bucket of cold water on the evening, but she really wanted him to know that the problem was with her and not with him. Her past boyfriends had figured that out eventually, but only after nights pounding away at her as if there were something inside her that just needed to be jostled loose like a stuck bag in a candy machine. That resulted only in soreness and feeling inadequate. One guy had told her that he wouldn't give up until she came; she was so tired and sore that she faked it to make him stop. They weren't all bad. Some of them, like Dave, had honestly tried. Somehow, that made it worse.

"It's not that I don't like sex," she says quickly. "I do! I just don't get to the grand finale very often." Another awkward smile. "Sorry if this ruins the moment."

"Hey, this doesn't ruin anything," he says. "Sex is bad when people _don't_ talk to each other. I'm really glad you told me." He leans in and gives her a slow, gentle kiss that makes her toes curl. "Will you promise to keep talking to me? Tell me how to make this amazing for you."

Hearing him say those words softly against her skin is such a turn-on. She's so attracted to him. She likes him so much. She wants to come with his arms around her, his skin against hers, his body inside hers.

"Can you give yourself an orgasm when you're by yourself?" he asks.

She nuzzles her face into his neck, partly because she wants to breathe him in and partly to hide her embarrassment. "Once or twice," she answers. Her voice is a little muffled.

"Okay," he says, and she feels him nod.

They start undressing each other, kissing and smiling and appreciating each new bit they see. The ceiling fan feels nice on her flushed, naked skin as they get into bed. Ben's body feels even better. He kisses his way down her neck and across her collarbone while his knuckles graze over her breast. She closes her eyes when he sucks her nipple into his mouth.

One of her many hang-ups. One of the things that must mean her body isn't wired right. She simply doesn't feel anything there. She knows she's supposed to because women have sensitive nipples, and it feels amazing when they're touched and kissed. It's not as if it's unpleasant. She likes watching him do it. She likes hearing his moans, and she likes that it clearly arouses him. She likes the intimacy of it.

Ben raises his head and lowers his lips back to her mouth. His kisses are better than any sex she's ever had – including the orgasms. "Talk to me," he murmurs, and it's almost like he knows, even though she had sighed happily and stroked his hair while he did it.

"I don't really… feel anything when men do that," she says, feeling unsexier by the minute. She's a weird, cold fish, and that's all there is to it. "Like I told you, there's something wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you." His eyes are so tender. She can't believe she had ever thought of him as "Mean Ben." "Real life isn't like porn. Not that I ever… have seen porn or anything." He flashes her an impish grin. "There are lots of women who don't have much sensation there. I owe that bit of knowledge to a very inappropriate biology teacher in high school. Let's just say she liked to over-share."

They laugh together, and she realizes how safe and special she feels with him like this. He feathers his fingertips down the center of her chest, watching her face. She shivers because _there_ it's sensitive. His fingers curve around underneath her breast, and she sighs at the pleasure of it. No other lover had touched her this way. They just went for the nipples. But Ben is making slow, lazy circles up the outer side, up her neck, and into her hair. He trails back down, across her shoulder, and down the inside of her arm. He keeps up the random path all over her chest and neck and arms, never using more than his fingertips and fingernails. Everything feather-light and gentle.

"That feels so good," she says shakily, and his answering smile is beautiful.

He gives her a deep kiss that makes her cling to him and press closer to him, and then his mouth returns to her nipple. She watches him kiss it and tongue it and suck it while his hand strokes the underside of her other breast. The arousal of watching and hearing one while feeling the other is a revelation.

"Ben," she sighs. "Yes… oh, you can keep doing that forever."

But he doesn't keep doing it forever. Instead, his hand slides over her belly and down to where she has been wet for him for some time now. "Where does it feel best?" he whispers. "Here…" He runs his finger around her entrance. "Or here?" He slides his finger up and circles.

"Both," she gasps. "I like both."

"Do you want my fingers or my mouth?"

_God in heaven_. She thinks maybe she could have an orgasm just from the things he says to her. Not only because they're hot but because no one ever did.

"I want your fingers while you kiss me," she says, pulling his mouth down to hers.

What he does feels good – no, it's an intense pleasure – but an orgasm feels far away and out of reach. She worries that he'll get tired of trying to figure out what gets her off while hardly any of this night has been for him. She did promise to talk to him, so she tells him what she's thinking.

"Leslie, I'm enjoying this every bit as much as you are. This is what making love _is_." He must see in her eyes that she's unconvinced. He kisses the pulse in her neck and says in a whisper, "Every time I hear one of your little sighs or moans, it makes me harder."

She presses her hips up against his hand, which had stilled while he talked. "Then make me moan," she says, "because I want you to be really, really hard when you're inside me."

"Fuck," he growls under his breath.

_Fuck_, he said. She made Ben Wyatt say _fuck_. She is a sex goddess.

Her sighs turn into loud pleas and cries as he strokes her. She can't concentrate on kissing anymore because the pleasure is too much, too distracting, too good. For the first time in her life, she feels like the person pleasuring her is doing it because it turns him on and not because he's trying to push her to some set end. Ben is fingering her because he likes it and not because he's waiting to get her off so he can have his turn.

He talks to her the whole time. Tells her how long he's wanted this. Tells her how she amazes him and inspires him. Says _fuck_ a few more times.

"Ben," she gasps. "I want you to be inside me when I come. Please."

"I will be, the second time."

At his words, her orgasm crashes over her without any warning. She cries out and trembles beneath him, digging her fingernails into his skin as her body tries to contain the pleasure without bursting. For a few moments, she feels like she can't move or speak. Ben is kissing her shoulder, gliding his fingertips back up over her stomach and breasts.

"That was gorgeous, Leslie," he says against her skin. "Absolutely gorgeous." He rolls onto his back and pulls her over him. "Will you let me see it again?"

Leslie's brain still doesn't feel fully functional again yet, but as she lowers herself slowly onto him and sees the desire in his eyes, she knows that she doesn't _like_ sex. She loves it, and she plans to have it with Ben Wyatt every day from now on.


End file.
